


On Days Like These

by hotterthnfire



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gender-Neutral Frisk, Major Illness, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Possible Character Death, Skeleton Puns, frisk has a sister, strong sibling relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-11 16:55:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5634124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotterthnfire/pseuds/hotterthnfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You've accepted your fate. Half a year at the most is what you've been given. You're not sure if half a year is generous or stingy, but Frisk is the sole reason why you haven't given up yet. You've accepted your fate. Until you meet a certain skeleton who sprouts nothing but terrible puns and grins constantly. Suddenly, you're filled with determination, but for what?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Sweet Scent of Sterilized Blue Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> I'm usually not the biggest fan of original characters, but there was something about this idea that really resonated within me, so I'm going to give it a shot. I'm not entirely sure where the plot is headed towards, but I have a vague feeling that it's going tibia a ride. Sorry, I had to. I apologize for the number of puns, so please don't scapula me. Okay, that was really bad. Anyway, thanks for giving my work a chance! Hope you enjoy! (Also, this is my first time using AO3, so please forgive my terrible formatting skills.)

**Chapter 1: The Sweet Scent of Sterilized Blue Flowers**

By now, you have grown accustomed to the antiseptic, overly sterile scent of the hospital. The pearly white walls may appear spotless to newcomers, but you have memorized every dent, every scratch on the walls of your room; you even gave some of the larger ones names when the boredom became too overwhelming. Everything, from the glaring lights to the cold drone of the machines, is etched into your brain. You feel like you have lived at least half your life in this room.

You hate this room.

After all, it is in here that you discovered the news that, strangely, left you silent for days.

Your parents wept for you, but for some reason, not a single tear trickled down your face. Were you really that shocked?

Sometimes you have dreams that are not exactly nightmares. They are worse, far worse. You dream you meet a blurry figure that knows everything, past, present, future, in the entire universe. Why, you keep on asking. Why me? Your voice is only a soft whisper initially and wavers uncertainly, but when the figure remains silent, your voice becomes more and more shrill until it’s a desperate scream that is filled with fear, apprehension, and sadness.

You are terrified of this dream because this is when you feel most alive.

Half a year at the most. It’s a short duration, not even long enough for you to reach your 19th birthday, but you have accepted your fate. You did not even have a chance to finish high school because of your constant hospitalizations. Your closest friends have grown distant, unattached. Of course, you can’t exactly blame them since it would only make things harder for both sides.

And because you can no longer live for yourself, you live for your younger sibling, Frisk. They are the light of your life, the sole reason why you have not given up yet. Despite the 11 year age gap, the bond that you share with Frisk is unbreakable; as their older sister, you are extremely protective of Frisk and you mourn the fact that you will be unable to be there for them once you pass on. Sometimes you even think that your only regret in the world is not being able to see Frisk grow up. Frisk adores you as well. They love spending time with you doing things such as building pillow forts, baking chocolate chip cookies, watching cartoons, exploring Mt. Ebott...

 The only time you cried after learning about your terminal illness was when you and Frisk were walking along the worn trail that led up to the summit of Mt. Ebott. One moment, they were beside you, holding your hand contently with a big smile on their face, and the next, they had disappeared.

You had panicked. Frisk was a smart kid, but your mind kept playing horrible scenarios over and over again.

Screaming their name, you ran back down the path. Branches tore into your clothes and skin, and you tripped several times in your hurry and fear that something had happened to them.

To this day, you are still not sure how it was possible, but after far too much time had passed without a sign of Frisk, you stumbled into a clearing that seemed to come straight out of a fairy tale.

Everything was so perfect.

The grass was a perfect shade of green.

The leaves rustled just the perfect amount.

The flowers were perfectly spaced apart.

And that is where you found them, bent over, almost completely enveloped by the tall, soft grass.

“Frisk!” you had called, all the strength draining out of your legs from the sudden surge of relief that was quickly being replaced by anger.

Startled, they quickly stood up with a guilty expression on their face, probably because they heard the slight anger seep into your voice. Frisk had always been too intuitive for their own good.

“Sissy, I’m really, really sorry,” they said in a quiet voice while looking down at their shoes.

Their brown bangs hang loosely against their forehead as they stare down at their feet, which point inward toward each other; the image is just so adorable, so childlike and innocent, that you feel your anger dissipating.

You sigh, walk up to them, and gently ruffle their hair. Usually, Frisk hates it when you mess up their hair, but right now they simply look up at you with imploring eyes, waiting for you to say something.

“I’m pretty sure we weren’t playing hide and seek, right?” you say quietly as you drop down to your knees and lightly grasp both their arms.

They give you a morose look and shake their head quickly.

“Hey there, little bro, I was worried sick. Don’t do that again, okay?” you mutter as you gather them in a warm hug, honestly too relieved to be mad anymore. As if sensing that they are already forgiven, Frisk pulls away and gives you a small smile.

“Okay, sissy, I’ll be more careful next time,” they say in a determined voice.

Smiling back, you stand up and take in your surroundings as you observe the clearing that Frisk discovered. This place really was picture-perfect. Almost too perfect to be real, you think to yourself. The thought bothers you slightly, but you’re too distracted by how much it reminds you of a mystical realm.

The rays of sunlight glitter in the air, and the grass sways rhythmically to the slight breeze. 

“I gotta admit, this is a really impressive place you found. What were you doing anyway?” you ask Frisk as you bend down to inspect a red flower at your feet; its petals are evenly shaped and the passionate crimson hue spills across the flower in a way that would make even the world’s greatest painter jealous.

As you glance back up at Frisk, you’re greeted by a bouquet of brilliant, sweet-smelling blue flowers.

“I saw these, sissy, and I just had to pick them for you!” they exclaim excitedly, a wide grin on their face.

Your favorite color is blue.

You blink once. Twice. The flowers are blurring together, and you hear Frisk anxiously asking you, “Sissy? Are you still mad? I promise I won’t run off by myself again.”

Hot tears spill down your face, and you’re laughing and hugging Frisk and wondering how and why you deserved such a sweet little brother.

“Frisk, these are absolutely gorgeous! I love them!”

When you returned home that evening, Frisk was sound asleep on your back and both of you were wearing blue flower crowns.

It’s one of your favorite memories, even if it’s becoming more and more painful for you to recall the happier moments in your life. Your parents even took a photograph of you and Frisk when you arrived home, thoroughly exhausted but thoroughly content and pleased. It’s one of the few pictures in which your smile is genuine. You have placed the photo somewhere in your desk so it’s hidden from your view; you’re scared that if you see it again, the feelings of doubt, fear, and regret will crawl on your back and the dam that you have worked so hard to build and fortify will shatter.

Distracted by your thoughts, you don’t hear the knocking at your door until you hear your parents softly call your name.

“Coming!” you say as you quickly stand up.

You frown as your make your way to the door. It’s quite late, and your parents are typically asleep by now. Something important is happening, you realize, as you open the door to see your parents standing close together.

Your mom’s eyes are tinged red, and your dad’s arm is wrapped around her shoulder in a comforting manner.

The alarm bells are ringing loudly in your head as you step out into the hallway, confused and worried.

“Sweetie, why don’t you come join your mother and me in the living room?” your dad asks. It’s more of a statement than a question, and you feel your dad’s hand on your back as he guides you to the couch.

A nightmare, you tell yourself as you sit down robotically, it has to be a nightmare.

It’s all just a bad dream.

“This has been a… difficult decision,” your father begins slowly. You notice that his hands are clasped around your mom’s, and someone’s hands are trembling. Your own hands shake in your lap.

“We weren’t sure if you should hear this…”

At least they are being honest.

Your attention drifts, like a cloud gone astray that is trying to figure out which direction the wind is blowing. It’s not because of boredom, but because you aren’t sure if you want to hear what they’re going to say next.

Pregnancy.

Not a replacement.

Frisk.

Lonely.

“At the very least, you deserve to—“ your dad begins, but you cut him off, not rudely, so that you can save your parents and yourself from whatever this conversation is leading to.

“I understand… and it’s fine.” You swallow hard, trying hard, _really_ hard, to keep your voice from wavering.

“When I’m gone, just make sure that Frisk isn’t lonely. I can’t stand the thought of them…” you trail off, unsure of what to say.

Hell, you aren’t sure of what to say about this entire situation, honestly. Is this the part that you develop a sudden strong loathing for your parents because they are literally replacing you after you die? Is this the part that scream and cry and sob and run away because your parents are literally replacing you after you die? Is this the part that you walk over to your parents and hug them because you know that this must be the most heartbreaking news they have ever delivered?

You take a deep breath, and gaze into your parents’ eyes. They’re filled with sorrow, guilt, despair, and… hatred?

They must hate themselves for doing this, you realize. And suddenly, you’re bawling and blubbering over and over again, “It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine…”

You feel the warm embrace of your mom, and her own tears mixing with yours, and before you know it, your dad has joined the both of you.

If the situation weren’t so solemn and heartrending, you might have smiled through your tears; your dad is definitely not the hugging type.

Your voice is slightly muffled and hoarse from crying, but the love of your mom and dad fills you with determination.

“Please don’t tell Frisk that I’m… gone. Just tell them that I’m away for a really long vacation, where there are lots of blue flowers and chocolate chip cookies.”

“We’re so sorry. We didn’t know—“  your mom speaks up for the first time with a shuddery voice. You don’t want to hear the pain in her voice, so you gently interrupt her.

“I’m just glad to hear that Frisk won’t be lonely once I’m gone,” you state firmly, trying to let your parents understand that this is all for Frisk and them because, frankly, there’s no one else to live for besides your parents and Frisk.

A tiny voice, so soft that you almost thought it was your imagination at first, cuts into the conversation like a knife.

Your heart stops mid-beat.

Your parents freeze.

“Sissy’s going to be gone?”

Frisk is standing in the entryway to the living room, eyes wide with shock and confusion.

Your parents and you make the mistake of facing towards them, offering them a full view of the aftermath of the sobbing. You and your parents must look like a wreck.

And damn this kid’s perception, because you’re trying so hard to look nonchalant and not like you just found out that your parents are basically replacing you in a year or so, but they see the flicker of horror flash across your face and that’s all they need to know.

You catch a glimpse of betrayal on Frisk’s face as they dash across the room.

“Frisk!” you exclaim, immediately leaping up.

No, no, no, no, no.

They weren’t supposed to know!

Your parents do the same, but you’re much, much faster. You run, following them into the foyer just in time to see the front door slam shut. Without a second thought and ignoring your parents’ cries for you to stop, you open the door to greet darkness face to face.


	2. It's Dinnertime!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kind comments! I'm really glad that people are enjoying this, so I hope to continue updating as regularly as possible. That being said, here's a new chapter!  
> Also, I apologize for the slow buildup, but I promise we'll be meeting our favorite monsters soon! :D

WARNING: Explicit language in this chapter.

**Chapter 2: It’s Dinnertime!**

 

You have no idea what time it is, but you don’t care. It’s freezing, but you can’t feel the cold seep into your bones. It’s dark, but you can’t afford to slow down or to stop and think.

Frisk is out there by themselves. That thought alone fuels every muscle in your body.

You realize that you’re shivering as you run through the night, but you aren’t sure if it’s from the painful drumming of your heart or from the icy wind that easily rips through your thin sweater.

“Frisk! Please! Frisk, where are you? Frisk!” you scream into the obscurity. Your voice seems to be swallowed up by the darkness, and you yell louder and louder until your vocal cords are raw.

If they get injured because of you, you don’t think you will be able to forgive yourself.

It’s a full moon tonight, and you thank whatever god or deity that exists in this world for the feeble amount of lighting. At least you can see just enough so that you won’t trip over a stray root and immobilize yourself before you find Frisk.

Panting slightly, you stop for a moment to clear your head, catch your breath, and figure out where the hell you are. Glancing around you, you curse quietly to yourself; you have no clue where you are, no clue where home is, and, most importantly, no clue where Frisk is.

The deafening silence of the forest fills you with a sense of trepidation that you try to ignore as you stumble onward.

“I’ll explain everything, Frisk, I promise! Just come back home with me!” you call desperately.

Nothing. The stillness of the forest makes you feel uneasy.

Wait, you hear something. A distant wailing sound that makes your hair stand on end. It sounded like it could have been the wind… or a child in distress.

Frisk!

You strain your ears, trying to decipher which direction it came from, and you hear it again up ahead towards the left.

“Frisk! I’m coming! Stay where you are!” you yell, praying that they are unharmed.

You race towards the source of the noise, ignoring the tears and rips and the occasional lash on the face from low-hanging branches. You hiss in pain as a particularly sharp branch digs into your skin, but you refuse to slow down; there’s too much at risk, and you would rather bear the agony of a thousand lashes than leave Frisk alone for a minute longer.

The wailing sound grows closer and closer, and you’re vaguely aware that you’ve been climbing uphill this entire time.

Mt. Ebott?

Fear strikes your heart anew when you remember that there have been sightings of mountain lions from time to time.

“FRISK! ANSWER ME, PLEASE!” you shout with all the strength your raw vocal cords can muster. You need to find Frisk, fast, and get off of the mountain.

“S-sissy?”

Their voice floats out from the blackness, and you’re so dizzy with relief and elation that you stop for a moment. No, it’s not over yet, you tell yourself sternly. Your knees wobble a bit as you follow their voice.

“Frisk! I hear you! Keep talking so I can—“ you stumble forward violently when a root catches your shoe, crying out in pain as your right foot twists at an unnatural angle.

Of course your inner klutz decides to show up with the best timing possible; you weren’t even fucking running.

“Sissy! What happened?” you hear Frisk call out with worry in their voice.

You gingerly place weight on your right foot and flinch when a jolt of discomfort travels up your leg. Your ankle is definitely either sprained or twisted.

“I’m fine! Just keep yelling so I can find you!” you holler with some unnecessary force; the throbbing in your ankle is gradually intensifying and you want Frisk to come back home and you want them to understand that you love them and you never wanted to hurt them and and and.

Your mind trembles from the weight of it all.

You lean heavily against a nearby tree waiting for Frisk to respond.

Silence.

You frown.

“Frisk? It’s dark and cold, and we need to go home! I promise I’ll explain everything, so please come home with me!” you yell, feeling an unfamiliar and inexplicable ache in your chest. It hurts even more than the excruciating ache in your ankle.

Silence.

A lump forms in your throat, and you clench your fists so tight that you can feel your nails dig in to the flesh of your palms.

You should have told them sooner. They deserved to know. You don’t deserve to be called their sister.

Were you trying to protect them, or were you trying to protect yourself, shield yourself, hide away from the truth?

You are a coward. You can’t even save yourself and yet here you are, trying to save someone who didn’t even need to be saved in the first place.

“F-frisk…” you whisper because you can’t trust yourself to speak any louder than that because you need to be brave for them.

Or is that just another lie?

You wish you had been given three days instead of half a year.

“Dammit. Damn it all,” you mutter delicately because you just don’t know anymore.

“I found you, Sissy!”

You yelp in surprise as a short figure materializes out of thin air and of course, being the clumsy fool you are, you trip over something on the ground in your surprise and fall flat onto your butt.

Frisk looks down at you with an unreadable expression etched on their face, but their lips are twitching into a smile.

You can tell they’re trying to stifle their giggle, but their small snorts give away their valiant effort.

And, despite everything that has happened tonight, you join them in their laughter.

When the laughter gradually fades away and you’re finally back on your feet, you feel the gravity of the situation burden your shoulders once more. Frisk is unusually quiet again, and though you can’t clearly see them in the hazy moonlight, you’re certain that they’re standing ramrod straight with their arms crossed tightly across their chest, waiting for you to say something, anything.

Very simply put, this means that if you want to avoid camping in the woods tonight with nothing but the thin clothes on your back, you owe Frisk an explanation or two.

Frisk is only 7 years old, but nothing escapes their observant eyes.

Sometimes you catch them watching you with an odd look, and you can’t help but feel like you’re gazing into the eyes of an ancient, someone who has seen the same scene far too many times for a very, very long time.  
It’s only happened twice or thrice, but each time it happens, you feel your soul quiver with a peculiar rush of adrenaline.

Right now, even in the near-total obscurity, you can feel Frisk’s eyes on you, scrutinizing you in a way that almost makes you squirm in discomfort; you take a deep breath, trying to pacify your beating heart before you tell them the truth.

You just want to go home at this point.

You hear a slight rustle behind you.

You just want this to be all over.

You hear slight panting behind you.

Fuck.

You open your mouth, but before you can shriek at Frisk to run, an immense weight pounces onto your back, simultaneously knocking you down and knocking the wind out of you.

You hear Frisk scream, but it sounds so far away. Did they manage to escape? You’re having trouble breathing. The world teeters and totters dangerously.

You’re pretty sure you’re going to have to amputate your right ankle at this point.

Tonight is really not your night.

So much for half a year, you bitterly think in the face of death. Are you laughing?

The mountain lion roars right next to your head, leaving your ears ringing, but it snaps you back into the present like whiplash.

You have to protect Frisk.

You attempt to roll around, trying to throw the mountain lion off your back. Somehow, it has managed to dig a _pawful_ of claws into your back.

Seriously?

Someone is still screaming, but you aren’t sure if it’s Frisk or you or both. Your vision flickers on and off like a lightbulb that is nearing its final stages of life.

You hear the son of a bitch let out a yap of surprise, and its grip on your back loosens.

Summoning all the strength you can conjure into your bleeding body, you somehow manage to heave yourself up to a standing position and throw the startled bastard off your back.

You blink the sweat out of your eyes, and you see Frisk standing in front of you holding a large rock in their left hand.

Frisk must have thrown a rock at it; the kid never ceases to amaze you.

“Bullseye!” you wheeze before you grab their right hand and fucking run like the fucking wind.

The rush of adrenaline pumping through your veins has numbed the horrible agony in your back and the stab of pain every time you place even the smallest amount of weight on your right ankle.

You have no idea how much you’re bleeding, but based on the warm stickiness you feel on your backside, it’s probably not a pretty sight.

There is no time to think about your injuries as a low growling reverberates close, far too close, behind you.

Your grip on Frisk’s hand tightens.

You’ll be damned if you let Frisk get hurt.

“S-sissy, you’re bleeding!” Frisk exclaims, sounding more alarmed by the sight of your bloodied back than the fact that the both of you are being hunted down by an apex predator on Mt. Ebott.

“I’m fine! Everything is fine!” you shout the lie without thinking as you manage to dodge a low hanging branch that probably would have gouged your eyes out.

Is everything trying to kill you tonight?

“Just keep running!” you scream as a monstrous and pissed off roar rings out behind you.

Suddenly, the trees melt away, and you find yourself running through a field of grass. The blades of grass are remarkably smooth, so smooth that they feel like velvet. The luminous beams of moonlight illuminate the clearing so well that you see… blue flowers?

“Sissy!” you hear Frisk cry out in excitement.

How the hell did you manage to stumble into this clearing again?

But there’s no time to stop and admire the view.

There’s no time to calm your fluttering heart.

There’s no time to tell Frisk that you’ll be dead in 6 months.

Just. Keep. Fucking. Running.

A familiar sensation grips your heart and fills you with a sense of dread.

You are such an idiot for not even considering the possibility of it happening right now.

Your mind flashes back to the white hospital room.

“… Avoid injuries at all costs since even the slightest cut can throw your immune system off. And no strenuous activity at all, okay? These can trigger…”

The sensation crushes your heart, and you double over in pain, clutching at your chest.

You have to stop running.

Frisk is immediately at your side. You can feel their small hands grip your arms with a vigor that you didn’t know they possessed.

“C’mon, Sissy! We’re almost there!” they encourage soothingly. Almost where?

Everything hurts, and you can’t even stand the thought of taking another step forward.

At this rate, the mountain lion is going to kill you both.

“Frisk, just go! I-it’s too painful…” you manage to grit out between the turbulences of unbearable discomfort in your chest.

“No. I’m not leaving without you, Sissy,” they say without hesitation.

You weakly shove Frisk forward, but they ignore your feeble attempts. They grasp your hand and pull you forward.

Images flash through your mind.

The doctor’s face when he walked into your room.

The look on your mom’s face when she found out her baby has half a year left.

The heap of colorful pills in your hand that you have to take every day.

The reflection of your pale face on days that are so bad you wish everything would just end.

The happiness on Frisk’s face when you’re finally back from one of your hospitalizations.

You can’t afford to not care anymore.

You feel their insistent tugging at your arm, and you glance up to see Frisk… crying?

Frisk never cries.

The sight of Frisk crying… You are filled with DETERMINATION.

The pain is more bearable now.

You squeeze their hand with affection and tenderness, and they look at you.

“Hey little bro, it’s all just a bad dream,” you murmur gently.

And you’re running again, faster than ever, faster than you physically think is possible. Your grip on Frisk’s hand never loosens.

Because you need to go home with Frisk.

The mountain lion is closing in; you know that it’s filled with its own resolve to find dinner tonight.

Just as it makes its final mighty pounce, you, acting purely instinctively, leap into the air. You also managed to pull Frisk up with you; their yells of terror have turned into yells of astonishment.

You have no idea how the hell that was possible, but you’re soaring. Behind and beneath you, the mountain lion snarls in fury at just having missed its prey.

And then gravity remembers that it has a job to do, so you find yourself falling back down. You pull Frisk close to you, close your eyes, and brace yourself for the impact, but it never comes.

You just keep falling.

What the fuck.

You open your eyes, but you can’t see a single thing. Frisk’s hand is still in yours.

The wind is whistling past your ears.

A chasm? A well? A cliff?

It’s getting brighter. You can see Frisk better now, and you can tell that they’ve passed out.

The light is blinding now, so you have to close your eyes.

Well, tonight has been a _fallure_.

And all the thinking stops as the light abruptly vanishes and you’re dragged into a deep abyss of nothingness.


	3. Mother Knows Best and So Does A Flower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thanks for the support! I'm currently on break, so the updates are pretty fast, but once school starts again... Well, let's not dwell on that depressing thought. I took some lines from the game, but I'll try not to do that as often as possible. Anyway, here's a new chapter! Hope you guys enjoy the read!

**Chapter 3: Mother Knows Best and So Does A Flower**

Something cool and refreshing trickles down your parched throat and you greedily sip at it, which turns out to be a bad idea because you start choking; the force of your coughs sends spasms of pain throughout your body and you curl into a fetal position, groaning and moaning.

“My child…”

A gentle, motherly voice caresses you, and you blink several times trying to focus on the tall figure above you. The room is dark, however, and all you can see is the outline of… horns? Why is she wearing horns?

The room is too hot, uncomfortably hot, and you feel like you’re sweating an ocean. A thick, heavy blanket is draped over you, but when you feebly attempt to kick the covers off, the mysterious figure placidly pulls it back up to your chin.

You let out a small whine, which embarrasses you once the sound leaves your throat because you realize how childish it sounds.

The stranger merely chuckles, a melodious sound that instantaneously makes you feel at ease and safe. You let out a relieved sigh when you feel a cool washcloth press against your burning forehead, and drowsiness begins to overtake you despite feeling unpleasantly warm.

“Frisk?” you woozily murmur. Your heart is telling you to stay awake, to find Frisk, and to get out of here; you can’t trust someone wearing horns on their head! But your fatigued body is already shutting down. Just five more minutes you tell yourself.

“They are resting in the other room, child. Now close your eyes and sleep. Everything will be all right when you wake up,” the voice speaks softly but sternly.

Frisk is fine. You’re fine. Everything is fine.

“Hey, are you wearing butterscotch perfume or something? It smells nice.”

But before you can hear the answer, you’re out like a light.

You drift in and out of consciousness as the fever rages on. Sometimes you feel like you’re going to spontaneously combust at any moment, other times you feel like you’ve been dipped in a tub of ice. The horned figure is often by your side, whispering words of encouragement and words that don’t sound like a language you have ever heard before. A strange glow sometimes spills across the room, but your brain is still too muddled to properly process what is going on.

Each time the glow fades away, your muscles feel less sore, your back feels less like a bed of nails, and even your soul feels less burdened.

You have no clue how much time has passed, but it feels like it’s been weeks, maybe even months, maybe even years. When the fever finally breaks, you find yourself wide awake in the middle of the night, lying on a small bed that is definitely not yours. You carefully get up from the bed, worried that any sudden movements might disorient you.

The first thing you notice is that your injuries, all of them, don’t hurt the slightest bit anymore. You hop on your right foot. You hop on your left foot. Perfectly fine. There’s a mirror on the wall next to the bed, and your suspicions are confirmed when you pull your borrowed shirt up to reveal your perfectly smooth back. You stare at it for a good second or two in bewilderment.

Shouldn’t there at least be a scar?

Apprehension quickly replaces your shock; exactly how long had you and Frisk been here?

Speaking of Frisk, where were they? You turn around to head towards the door, but there’s something in the middle of the room that stops you.

You’re not alone, it seems.

The room is faintly lit by a meager night light in the corner; it’s just bright enough for your eyes to see a small… flower?

Why is there a flower in the middle of the room? Even stranger, you notice, is that the flower is planted directly on the carpet! You rub your eyes with the back of your hands; maybe your fever is so severe that you’ve started hallucinating. That would also explain why all your wounds just magically disappeared.

“Howdy!”

Startled by the disembodied voice, you jump and let out a small noise of surprise.

There’s no one else in the room, so you look at the flower. You have to admit that this is a really wonky hallucination when you notice that the flower has grown two eyes and a mouth. It stares at you expectantly.

“I’m Flowey. Flowey the flower!” it continues when you fail to acknowledge the fact that a _flower_ with a name just spoke to you.

“Well, I guess it’s time to wake up,” you laugh nervously as you pinch yourself. Hard.

Flowey gives you a strange look before dissolving into a fit of giggles. For some reason, its laughter sounds artificial, almost forced, and it makes you feel uneasy. The darkness of the room doesn’t help calm your nerves, so you walk past Flowey and flip on the light switch next to the door.

Flowey is a yellow flower with a friendly face; it’s almost kind of cute.

“You’re new to the Underground, arent’cha?” Flowey asks with a wide grin on its face.

_Underground?_

Underground Railroad? What? You’re thoroughly perplexed.

Without waiting for you to answer, Flowey continues, “Golly, you must be so confused. Someone ought to teach you how things work around here!”

“Look, uh, Flowey, it’s really nice meeting you, but I think—“ Flowey cuts you off with another loud outburst of snickers.

“Don’t worry, your new best friend will make sure you’ve learned everything there is to learn!” Flowey declares with anticipation.

You try to be as polite as possible to the talking flower.

“I really appreciate it, Flowey, but I have to, you know, return to reality,” you say patiently.

Something dark flashes across Flowey’s face, but it’s so brief that you think the lighting of the room is playing tricks on your eyes.

“Reality? Reality is just a figment of your imagination, best friend! Let little old me show you how it really works,” Flowey beams, completely ignoring your point.

“Seriously, Flowey, I have to—“ you start, but again, you’re rudely interrupted by Flowey’s cackles of laughter.

“Here we go!” it exclaims with eagerness.

You never thought the day a flower is able to get on your nerves would come. Your patience is at its limit and, frankly, you prefer blue flowers anyway; you’re not sure why your brain conjured an annoying yellow flower instead.

Opening your mouth to tell Flowey to get out of your min—

“Oh!” you gasp as you feel an invisible force pull on your chest. It’s not quite painful, but it certainly isn’t comfortable. It feels like something is trying to break free from your ribcage, and you clutch your chest as if you’re trying to prevent whatever it is from escaping.

“Oops! This is your first time, isn’t it? I forgot to mention that this always happens the first time. Don’t worry, best friend, it’ll be over in the blink of an eye,” Flowey chortles with undisguised amusement.

Although you have no idea what is going on, you get the feeling that Flowey knew _exactly_ what was going to happen. You grit your teeth in anger and scowl at the unperturbed flower; Flowey smiles back at you with genuine glee on its face.

This damn flower…

The strange tug is relentless, and you fall to your knees as it gradually overwhelms you. The floor seems to be spinning too quickly underneath your hands, so you squeeze your eyes shut when you taste bile in your mouth.

Everything is too real, and for the first time since waking up, fear creeps into the back of your mind.

Everything is real.

You need to get out of here.

Flowey. You need to get away from that flower. You can’t put your finger on it, but there’s something ominous about that flower. There’s something hidden underneath its façade of harmless yellow petals and broad grin.

A wolf in sheep’s skin.

You can’t believe you thought Flowey was cute.

Your eyes snap open. The floor is no longer spinning and though you’re having some difficulty breathing, the feeling of being ripped into two has vanished. There are no residual effects, and you feel perfectly normal.

What in the world…

“What in the…” you hear Flowey mutter to itself, confusion clearly evident in its voice.

You look up to see a light rose-colored heart floating in front of you. It would have been perfect if not for the ugly web of thin black veins etched across it. The ethereal glow around the heart is feeble, and you have a feeling that if you were… normal, it would have been much brighter.

Your breath catches in your throat.

Tears well up in your eyes.

You instinctively reach out to touch it.

It’s beautiful. It’s ruined. It’s _you._

The door suddenly opens, and your head snaps around in alarm.

The mysterious horned figure!

Is an anthropomorphic goat?

She stares at your tear-stained face for a moment before settling her gaze upon the heart. You see shock flit across her eyes.

“You again… Did you do this to the child?”

Her voice is mellow, like you remember it to be while she was taking care of you, but there’s a hard edge to it that makes you realize that underestimating her would be a huge, huge mistake. Flowey seems to already know this because its expression looks like its wishing for mobile roots. It’s not smiling for once, you notice.

But then the leer is back. Flowey cackles murderously while staring at you with a crazed look in its eyes. You want to avert your gaze, but there’s something that keeps you frozen. Shivers creep down your spine.

Since when did flowers have fangs?

“So what if I did?” Flowey taunts, now looking at the horned figure. “In this world, it’s kill or be killed. Why would ANYONE pass up on an opportunity like this!?”

The horned figure opens her mouth to say something, but Flowey continues.

“Only an old fool like you would…” There’s the smallest hint of tenderness in its voice, so minute that you barely catch it, but it’s there. And despite what Flowey has done and said, you feel an uncharacteristic surge of pity for the flower.

The horned figure seems to have noticed it as well because her eyes narrow dangerously. You expect her to have an outburst, to set Flowey on fire, or do something dramatic, but she merely waves her hand in the air.

“Begone, you terrible creature,” she utters calmly.

A white ball of fire forms in her palm, and she directs it toward Flowey.

So she is going to set it on fire.

You watch with horrid fascination as the fire envelops Flowey, who has been screeching with wild laughter the entire time. Instead of setting it aflame, the ball merely grows brighter and brighter around Flowey until you have to shield your eyes.

_See ya later, best friend!_

Both the light and Flowey’s unsettling laughter disappear, and you open your eyes again.

There are no scorch marks or smoke where Flowey was.

You can’t help but blurt out, “You didn’t kill it, did you?”

The horned figure turns to you, giving you her full attention. She studies you carefully before letting out a tired sigh.

“No, my child, I did not,” she responds quietly. You think you hear a tint of guilt in her weary voice.

“Good… I would have been disappointed if you did,” the words slip out of your unfiltered brain and mouth before you know it. Your face reddens when you realize how rude it must have sounded, especially right after she saved your life.

“Sorry! I-I mean, I’m glad you didn’t because…” you say, completely flustered by the slip of your tongue.

She gives you an odd look before laughing warmly. There’s a genuine smile on her face now.

“You’re an interesting human,” she simply says.

Thanks?

The room is quiet now that Flowey is gone, and you’re bursting with questions. You feel your chest tingle; the heart is still there, floating in front of you.

The horned figure seems to remember at the same time as you and looks at it with an unreadable expression on her face.

“Torturing such a poor, innocent youth… Did that creature do this to you?” she asks delicately.

She must be referring to the black veins that weave across the heart.

“No, those were already there when the heart appeared,” you say.

If there’s a word you can use to describe her expression after you tell her this, it would be heartbroken.

“I see,” she murmurs, sounding distracted. For a second, she appears to be lost in her thoughts.

“Ah, forgive me, my child. I have forgotten to introduce myself. I am Toriel, caretaker of the Ruins,” she states with a small smile on her face.

Toriel waves her hand in the air once more, and the heart floats back into your chest. A warm sensation runs through your body, making you inhale in surprise.

“That is your Soul, the very essence of your being that you must protect. It is the _sole_ reason why humans like you and monsters like me exist,” she continues.

Was that a pun?

You accidentally interrupt her with a poorly concealed snort of laughter.

Toriel’s eyes widen, and for a second you think she’s going to get annoyed at you for interrupting.

“I apologize for my puns. I have not yet met another _living soul_ who actually laughs at them,” she grins.

You dissolve into laughter, which feels amazingly good after all that has happened with Flowey. Toriel joins in your laughter, but when you glance at her from the corner of your eye, you feel a distinct sadness in the air surrounding her. Her smile doesn’t quite meet her eyes, and, like how you noticed with Flowey, there’s something… off.

You both fall into a comfortable silence until you suddenly remember.

“Oh right! Do you know where Frisk is? They’re my younger sibling who fell down with me,” you ask, feeling rather guilty and ashamed that you completely forgot about them.

“Frisk is sleeping in the other room. Do not worry, though, they are unharmed,” Toriel tells you, but for some reason, she refuses to meet your eyes.

What did she say to Flowey at the beginning?

_You again…_

“Wait, did Flowey also attack Frisk?” you ask, voice rising in pitch at the thought of your sibling in danger.

You’re an idiot.

Sure, Toriel may have just saved your behind from getting kicked by a flower, but you don’t know anything about her.

You have no idea where you are.

You have no idea what Toriel is capable of.

The look on your face must perfectly reflect your thoughts because Toriel gently takes your hand. Her white fur is extraordinarily soft. She reminds you of someone, someone like your mom. You mentally shake your head.

No, you can’t trust Toriel yet.

“Come downstairs, my child. I will explain everything to you. Do you like butterscotch pie?”


	4. Red Apples and White Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, I meant to update, like, a bajillion years ago. Well, I guess this is a pretty long chapter, so please forgive the delay. TT_TT Things are finally picking up the pace, and get ready for lots of skeleton puns in the next chapter. Guess it's time for me to pull up a diagram of the skeletal system or something. Sigh. Hope you guys enjoy this chapter!

**Chapter 4: Red Apples and White Fire**

After checking on Frisk, who is sound asleep in the room next to yours, you follow Toriel downstairs. It’s only after Toriel brings out her freshly baked butterscotch pie that you realize just how famished you are. You blush when your stomach lets out a loud rumble as she generously divides the pie. Toriel merely gives you a small smile, and she hands you a plate with a huge slice of pie. Your mouth unashamedly waters.

The aroma is irresistible, the fireplace crackles quietly, the house is warmly lit, and for the first since forever, you feel at peace.  

Toriel sits across from you with a steaming mug, looking at you expectantly. You notice that she doesn’t have a plate in front of her.

“Are you not going to eat a slice, Toriel?” you ask. After all, it’s a humongous pie.

“Do not worry about me, my child. I prefer snail pies, but I am not so sure you and Frisk would share similar tastes,” Toriel replies. She laughs a bit when she sees you cringe at the thought of snail pies.

“ _Shell_ I take that as a no?” she jokes lightheartedly, and you let out a small giggle. Honestly, you would have never pegged Toriel to be the type to appreciate puns and bad jokes because of her solemn and motherly appearance, but her humorous side helps you relax.

You eagerly dig into the pie, and you have to control yourself to not inhale the entire slice; it’s absolutely heavenly. There’s also a hint of cinnamon, and although you’ve never heard of adding cinnamon to butterscotch pie, it’s a surprisingly enjoyable combination. 

Toriel beams happily when you ask for a second slice. You attack it with much less ferocity, and Toriel takes a long sip of her drink.

“Are you ready, my child?”

  

You swallow a forkful of pie and contemplate Toriel’s simple question.

Are you ready?

Everything that has happened… Meeting Toriel and Flowey, leaping into a hole, barely escaping a hungry mountain lion, Frisk getting closer to the truth that you just can’t bring yourself to tell them.

Frisk still doesn’t know, and you wonder if they’ve forgotten about it. You subconsciously hope they have.

“Sissy? Do you feel better?” Frisk appears out of nowhere next to your chair, causing both you and Toriel to jump in your seats.

“Frisk! You almost gave us a heart attack!” you exclaim. “What are you doing up so late?”

Frisk yawns before they can reply, but after they’re done, you notice that their eyes are wide-awake and alert. They grin at you cheerfully.

“I heard your voice in my sleep, so I woke up,” they simply explain, not even batting an eyelid at how strange their response sounds.

You study Frisk carefully now that they’re awake; apart from lethargy, they seem to be fine. You pull them into a bone-crushing hug, too thankful to say anything in response, and they let out a noise of embarrassment.

“Aw, Sissy, come on…” they grumble, but you can tell that they’re smiling into your shoulder.

“It’s late, but I’m sure we both need to hear this from Toriel,” you say as you release Frisk from your hug. They quickly clamber onto the chair next to yours.

Toriel has been watching quietly the entire time, and when Frisk finally settles down next to you, she repeats her question. Frisk reaches out to grasp your hand, but you’re not entirely sure if it’s because they’re nervous or if they’re trying to comfort you. Perhaps it’s both.

“My children, are you both ready now?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, mom.”

You raise an eyebrow at Toriel, who innocently shrugs and fails to hide her small smile of delight. She has a lot of explaining to do.

“Then let us begin.”

_Long ago, two races ruled over Earth: Humans and Monsters._

_One day, war broke out between the two races…_

Your second slice of pie lies cold and half-eaten, long forgotten since Toriel began her story, the _monsters’_ story. You’ve lost track how many times Frisk has subtly nudged you to remind you that your mouth is hanging wide open. You’ve lost track of what is real and what is not. It’s difficult for you to take it all in, but Frisk easily, almost eagerly so, accepts what Toriel tells the both of you.

Monsters.

Magic.

Underground.

 _Underground_.

For some reason, the word resonates within you, like feeling the warmth of a candle flame on your palms when you cup your hands around it. You’re thousands, possibly millions, of miles away from home, but there’s not a single nerve within your body that tingles in fear at the thought of that. You should be scared witless because you’re talking to a monster, a creature that only exists in fictional tales on the surface.

No, you feel like this could be a new beginning. A new beginning to what?

“My child, the magic I used to heal you with should never be attempted again. It seems that human Souls are unable to… handle magic as well as monster Souls,” Toriel’s remorseful voice brings you back to the present, away from your ruminations.

You blink confusedly, trying to process what Toriel just said when your mind was distracted.

“I’m really glad you did, mom. Otherwise Sissy would still be hurt,” you hear Frisk tell Toriel, trying to comfort her.

Mom. Dad. Family. Were you really planning to stay in the Underground any longer than you had to?

“Yeah, no, I really appreciate it, Toriel. It’s thanks to your magic that I can walk normally after just… How long has it been?” you trail off distractedly, still unsure of how long you and Frisk have been in the Underground.

“Two days, my child,” Toriel fills in for you.

You stare at her for a moment.

“Two days. It’s only been two days?” you can’t keep the incredulousness out of your voice.

“Yes, what did it feel like to you?” Toriel asks with a guarded expression on her face.

“A couple of weeks, at the very least!” you exclaim. “I mean, I know I had a ridiculous fever, but I swear it didn’t feel like only two days.” You can’t help letting some frustration seep into your voice; something feels wrong.

“Actually, it didn’t feel like two days to me either,” Frisk speaks up, looking at Toriel with something odd in their eyes. You inhale sharply because it’s _that_ look. And they’re using it on Toriel. She seems to also notice that something about Frisk’s aura has changed because she nervously fidgets in her chair. Both you and Frisk wait for her to say something because you can tell that she knows.

Maybe it’s just another side effect of magic.

Maybe you underestimated how feverish you were.

Why isn’t she telling you?

The fire hisses moodily in the fireplace, and Toriel picks up her mug to sip at her cold drink; she makes a face as she sets it down slowly.

“Mom…” Frisk begins. You notice that there is a hint of concern in their voice.

Toriel sighs and folds her hand together like she’s about to pray. There is a defeated look in her eyes.

“My children, please do not act in haste when I tell you this. Your bodies were still functioning as if they were on the surface. Time is needed to adjust to the differences,” she states evenly.

Still functioning as if they were on the surface?

Time?

Realization dawns upon you like a dreadful slap to the face.

“H-how long?” you stutter out in horror and shock.

Toriel looks away before, almost inaudibly, responding, “At least two to three weeks.”

Each day in the Underground is the equivalent to two to three weeks on the surface.

You hunch over, trying to prevent the trickling panic from erupting into a full-blown geyser.

Fuck.

Your parents. Are probably. Worried. To. Death.

“You were going to tell us this, right? Mom?” Frisk asks gently. Unfortunately, you were the more hot-blooded sibling of the two; fury begins to replace your panic.

“Yeah, _mom_ , you were going to us about this, right?” you snap angrily. You see Toriel flinch a bit at the sarcastic edge in your voice when you say mom.

Frisk glares at you, “Sissy!”

You sigh wearily, feeling thoroughly ashamed that you let your anger get the better of you.

_Get ahold of yourself. Frisk is younger than you, and they’re acting more mature._

Toriel has been nothing but kind and caring to you and Frisk ever since she found you guys after the fall.

“I’m sorry, Toriel. It’s just—it’s just alarming to hear that we’ve been missing for four weeks on the surface. Our parents are probably worried sick, and we really need to get back to them as soon as possible. We really appreciate everything you’ve done for us, but I think it’s time to head back up,” you say with sincerity.

You really are glad that you met someone as compassionate and benign as Toriel, but it’s finally time to go back home with Frisk.

Toriel is unusually quiet for a minute or two before she finally meets your eyes again. You suddenly feel like you’re being suffocated by a sea of unbridled grief. There’s so much sadness in her tender eyes.

You’re drowning in it.

You can’t breathe.

You can’t see the light on the surface.

Toriel abruptly stands up.

“Come, my children. I, Toriel, Caretaker of the Ruins, will guide the way,” she says with far too much somberness, like she’s about to go to a funeral, for you to feel too thrilled at the idea of returning to human civilization. Without another word, she begins walking away from the table towards the other room.

You look at Frisk, who looks downright worried.

“There’s something wrong, Sissy. I’m worried about mom. She’s hurting so much on the inside,” Frisk mutters. You feel another stab of guilt in your heart.

“Yeah, I was being too harsh to her,” you say with a heavy tone, but you feel like Frisk is referring to something much bigger, much more serious.

“We should be careful,” Frisk says, surprising you with their grave tone. The red alarms have been going off in your head for a while now, but hearing Frisk’s voice as part of the alarms is even more unsettling.

“C’mon, little bro. Stick close by my side,” you say as lightly as possible, taking their hand. Frisk typically isn’t the biggest fan of holding hands, but right now they grip onto yours tightly with no complaint.

Toriel is waiting for you and Frisk at the top of the stairs. When she sees the both of you, she descends down the staircase wordlessly. You can’t get rid of the foreboding feeling that infiltrates the pit of your stomach; maybe you shouldn’t go downstairs. You hesitate, but Frisk pulls you along.

“We have to do this, Sissy,” they mutter. “I don’t want to hurt Toriel anymore.”

“She wants us to stay, right? She wants us to call her mom, right?” you wonder out loud.

_Did she have a family?_

_Did she have children?_

_Did she finally find a reason to bake a butterscotch pie again?_

“You’re right, Frisk. We can’t stay any longer,” you say firmly, finally understanding. When you and Frisk finally reach the bottom of the stairs, you don’t see Toriel anywhere. There’s a long a stretch of hallway that’s weakly lit, and you swallow nervously. Toriel wouldn’t do anything, right? You think of the sorrow you saw in her eyes and suddenly, you’re not sure that you can answer that question confidently.

You feel Frisk tug on your hand.

The walk down the hallway seems to take an eternity, and then you finally see her.

Toriel stands in front of a large dark purple door; her back faces you coldly.

“You want to leave so badly.”

Her question is more of a statement than a question.

“Hmph. You are just like the others.”

_Others?_

_Surely she didn’t…_ You can’t even bring yourself to finish that thought.

“There is only one solution to this.”

You feel Frisk tighten their grasp on your hand.

“Prove yourself… Prove to me you are strong enough to survive.”

Toriel turns around to face you and Frisk. You’re not sure which scares you more, the fact that her voice is so devoid of emotion or the fact that she completely ignores you and focuses on Frisk.

You _want to leave so badly._

You _are just like the others._

 _Prove_ yourself.

Why is she only addressing one person? You feel Frisk let go of your hand and step forward.

“What? Frisk, no! Y-you can’t do this!” you stammer, stepping forward to stop them. An image of Toriel’s white fireball fills your mind with terror.

“It’s too dangerous, Frisk,” you say, sternly this time while trying to pull them back.

“Sissy, I don’t want any of us to get hurt,” they say. “I can do this.”

“Frisk…” you find yourself staring into their eyes. Eyes that are filled with determination and something else that placates you.

Frisk is only seven, but you once again, you think you’re looking into the soul of an ancient.

“Just trust me, Sissy.”

You know that Frisk didn’t say that in a backhanded way, but you feel a wave of remorse wash over you. After all, you realize, it’s because you didn’t completely trust Frisk that all of this happened in the first place.

If you had only told Frisk the truth.

You let go of their shoulder, and they smile at you. Your heart pounds painfully against your chest.

“Thanks, Sissy.”

They begin to approach Toriel.

“Wait!” you call out. Frisk pauses and turns to you again.

“Um, I’ll buy you a new dinosaur toy when we get back,” you blurt out before you realize what you’re saying. You mentally facepalm; that’s the best you could come up with?

Frisk giggles, waves at you, and when you blink, they’re standing before Toriel with an unreadable expression on their face. You clench your fists; there’s no way she’d actually hurt them, right?

Even though you’re standing close enough to hear what they’re saying, some sort of invisible bubble or force seems to surround the two because you can’t hear a word that Frisk is saying as their mouth moves.

You see Toriel shake her head and wave her hand in the air.

She can’t possibly hurt them, right? Right?

Fear courses through your veins when you see it.

A small red heart.

It’s absolutely perfect, and the shade of red reminds you of freshly picked apples on a cool fall evening.

It’s Frisk.

_You are correct, my child. The flower tried to attack Frisk first, but I intervened just in time._

_Sissy, did Flowey also go to your room?_

A ring of white fireballs form above Toriel.

You vaguely notice that you’re screaming and pounding against the invisible wall with your fists. Time seems to slow down as you watch Toriel fling the white fireballs at Frisk’s Soul.

She can’t possibly hurt them, right?

Frisk manages to dodge the first couple of fireballs, but there are simply far too many; one of them successfully graze their Soul.

“FRISK!” you shriek, still pummeling the wall with all your might. Bruises are definitely going to form the next day.

You can’t hear them, but you can see that they’re obviously in complete agony as they fall to their knees clutching their chest. This is all your damn fault, letting Frisk face Toriel in the first place. What kind of a sister agrees to let her younger sibling challenge a powerful monster? But why had Toriel targeted Frisk in the first place? Was it because they were younger and smaller than you? You grit your teeth.

Frisk is standing again, and though you can’t see their face clearly, you get the feeling that there’s a determined look on their face. They aren’t going to back down anytime soon.

Another circle of deadly white fireballs form. There’s no way Frisk can survive another round of Toriel’s brutal attacks. You see Toriel saying something to Frisk. You were never that great at lip-reading, but you manage to catch a certain phrase.

“I promise I will take good care of you here.”

Her sad little smile is back, but this time Frisk shakes their head.

The smile fades away into a frown of disappointment. The fireballs close in on Frisk’s Soul.

You slam your entire body on the wall in desperation, but nothing happens.

You’ve completely misjudged Toriel.

“No…” your voice comes out as a broken whisper. “They’re all I have left.”

And then it’s all over.

The fireballs vanish. Frisk’s Soul vanishes.

What?

Toriel is hugging Frisk, and you can see the glint of tears on her face. Her mouth is moving, but the damn barrier—

“My expectations… My loneliness… My fear… For you, my children… I will put them aside.”

The barrier is still there, but somehow Toriel is projecting outside of it.

“If you truly wish to leave the Ruins, I will not stop you.”

She leans over to Frisk’s ear and whispers something to them so that you can’t hear. You see Frisk nod, and Toriel ruffles their hair lovingly. She looks at you over their shoulder and mouths something.

_I am sorry._

You’re not entirely sure what is going on, but you know that you can’t bring yourself to forgive Toriel that easily. Even if she did ultimately spare Frisk, she still hurt them.

You give Toriel a curt nod, and she seems to understand.

“Goodbye, my children.”

She lets go of Frisk and walks past you without a single word. Frisk runs over to you, and the both of you watch as Toriel pauses. She turns around and casts one final longing glance at you and Frisk before finally disappearing around the corner.

It’s finally over.

“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh…” you exhale in one breath as you gather Frisk in your arms. “You’re all right. You’re all right.”

“Sorry for making you worry about me again, Sissy,” their muffled voice comes out from your shoulder.

“I can’t believe Toriel actually hurt you, though,” you say resentfully.

Frisk pulls away from you and gives you a serious look.

“I think it hurt Toriel more than it hurt me.”

There’s so much earnestness in their voice that you find yourself unable to argue.

Instead, you sigh and mutter, “Yeah, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so lonely before.”

“Wait, I don’t think Toriel ever told us how to get back to the surface,” you grumble with a frown.

“She told me that there’s only one way,” Frisk says. You look at them in surprise. “But she refused to tell me how.”

“Best news I’ve heard all day,” you mutter sarcastically.

Frisk continues, “The monsters on the other side of this door can help us.”

More monsters...

“Well, guess the only way is forward,” you say as you push open the door and walk through with Frisk next to you. For a second, all you can see is total darkness.

And then you see the snow, the forest, the--

A fierce gust of icy wind leave both you and Frisk shivering from the cold.

“W-w-where are we?” Frisk asks as they press their small body against yours.

“N-n-n-Narnia, it seems,” you joke between your chattering teeth.

“L-l-let’s get outta here b-b-before we turn into h-h-h-human popsicles,” you say, semi-jogging down the frozen stony path. Frisk follows you without complaint.

You’re not sure where the light source is, but the woods are faintly lit by something. Eerie shadows dance and flicker around, and you’re pretty sure that your shivering isn’t only from the cold.

From the corner of your eye, you think you see something move.

You stop.

“Sissy?” Frisk looks up at you anxiously from the left side.

Whatever it was, it’s gone.

“Probably just a squirrel or something,” you mutter as you stare into the blackness behind the trees.

You feel like you’re being watched.

Someone taps you on your left right shoulder. You jump, startled.

“Really Frisk? That’s gotta be the oldest trick in the book,” you say, scowling at them.

“Hm? I didn’t do anything,” Frisk says with confusion in their voice.

“Don’t try to act to innoc—“

A deep, quiet voice cuts you off.

“H u m a n. D o n ‘ t  y o u  k n o w  h o w  t o  g r e e t   a  n e w  p a l? T u r n  a r o u n d  a n d  s h a k e 

m y  h a n d.”

You foolishly turn around and find yourself face-to-face with a grinning skeleton who’s holding his hand toward you.

You shriek and gracefully trip over yourself, falling into the snow. Frisk, taking advantage of your clumsiness, grabs the skeleton’s hand before you can protest.

Ppppppppfffffftttttttttttt.

Was that… a fart?

Frisk bursts out laughing, but you’re still too shocked by the ridiculousness of the situation to form words.

“heheh… the old whoopee cushion in the hand trick. it’s always funny,” the skeleton grins.  


End file.
